


if there's a crime, we'll keep it secret

by scarecrowes



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Friendship/Love, Non-Graphic Violence, Partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 06:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarecrowes/pseuds/scarecrowes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are times when Meyer remembers just how much they need each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if there's a crime, we'll keep it secret

Meyer knows how well they balance each other out. For Charlie it’s instinct, based on a fact that’s as undeniable as night and day. He can keep from thinking on it too much for that reason as much as because he’s  _Charlie_ , and he’ll raise question to something like what they have about as fast as he’ll hit you in the teeth for it.    
  
For Meyer it’s something that slams through his thoughts like an angry drunk at the least opportune times. It’s not with Charlie’s cologne filling his senses, pushed up against his desk just enough that his toes skate the floor before his weight settles. No, it’s always times like  _right now_ , when he’s mulling over the numbers from last night’s take, halfway through a sip of coffee and the end of a calculation when he realizes how quiet it is.   
  
Charlie’s in the other room, visible through the dusty window talking with Benny - complete with the snap and laugh of his voice through the wall. Close enough for sound, for _I’m here_ , but not enough to be a distraction.  
  
Meyer swallows his coffee and taps his pen on the desk.   
  
Inopportune moments, indeed.  
  
Like when he’s up in Boston with AR, snagged under the clap of King Solomon’s hand on his shoulder and a far more amicable push than what Joe would give Charlie,  _nice to be around your own isn’t it?_  
  
And he feels young and too full of nerves to do more than quietly laugh and nod. But later, on the phone - checking on the game and Benny that he left in Charlie’s care - the Sicilian tells him some stupid joke he can’t remember the words for to explain to AR why he’s laughing so hard, audible from a room over and stammering Italian through it,  _shut up, moron, just—_  
  
Or weeks after stumbling back from Atlantic City, when he finally lets Charlie close again, bumped back against the countertop in the kitchen of Charlie’s apartment. He has his hands on Charlie’s waist, and the tension in his back is unwinding for the first time since Thompson let him up from his knees. It’s now that Charlie pushes, invasive and demanding, teeth and nails and using the full extent of his height to keep Meyer pinned and held close - but it’s _okay_ , here, with locked doors and no one else to watch him break apart.   
  
They’re pressed close enough that Meyer has to tip his head back almost all the way to see Charlie’s face, and there are enough moments that would be distinctly _not okay_  that it hits him again - that they have something, here, Charlie undoing buttons and leaving marks because Meyer didn’t ask for them and he _needs_  to.   
  
He runs a hand through Charlie’s curls, later, absent and affectionate enough that Charlie grins on reflex with Meyer’s bruises deep across his throat.   
  
“Feelin’ better?”   
  
And he’s  _overwhelmed_ , by how much he doesn’t remember what it’s like to be alone - by how carefully Charlie can pick through his words and find the hurt under them, sink his teeth and tear it free.  
  
“Yeah,” Meyer hums, even though he doesn’t need to say it. “I am.”


End file.
